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  She had laughed at herself, but wryly, because it hadn't really been amusing, and set about preparing for her date. A bath and a hair wash, a blow-dry, and make-up put on with light fingertips, all helped to relax her. She was looking glowing and good when she came downstairs and joined Ruth and William, to wait for the doorbell to ring and Roland to collect her.

  'So do you look stunning,' she told him now. 'Come in for half a minute while I get my handbag.' She knew that Ruth was dying to see him.

  His car was a Porsche with a left-hand drive. It seemed odd having the passenger. seat on the wrong side, but everything else was familiarly comfortable. He was quite like other friends she had, good-looking and good company, and they chattered and joked as though they had known each other for years.

  She didn't mention that Liam had called on her until Roland brought up the holiday invitation, and that was just after Carly had made her selection from the sweet trolley. He had talked a lot about the Chateau des Sables, his home, the manor house of Madame Corbe's estate, which had stood since the seventeenth century overlooking the coastline of Brittany. 'It sounds beautiful,' she said, as she had several times before, and he said,

  'You should see it. Why don't you come back with us for a holiday?' Carly had a fork poised over a strawberry gateau. She cut off a small portion of sponge and he went on, 'It was my aunt's suggestion, but I think it would be a splendid idea.'

  'Liam doesn't,' she said, and he gasped,

  'How do you know?'

  Liam must have made his disapproval clear, but if he hadn't mentioned Gerald what reason had he given? She said, 'He called on me tonight. He was waiting at the house when I got back from work,' and this time Roland's gasp was even louder.

  'Did he? I hadn't realised he felt that strongly. I suppose it's because Aunt Aimee's got this bee in her bonnet about Antoinette. He doesn't want her reminded. She's old and she isn't very strong.'

  'It isn't just that,' said Carly slowly. 'He thinks I might take advantage of the situation, looking like her granddaughter. Well, she's rich and I'm not.'

  Roland gave an incredulous chortle. 'Oh, I can't believe Liam would think that! Why should he?'

  Carly had imagined she could sit and look straight at him and relate the whole story, but she found it easier to look across the room or down at her plate. For all her gaiety she had a deep reserve, and she had been savagely humiliated in that courtroom and by Gerald's conduct. She didn't know which had cut deeper, the pitiless questioning or the way Gerald had tried to blame her, but she didn't want anyone looking into her eyes while she was talking about it.

  She said quietly, 'I had seen Liam before. Nearly four years ago when I lived up North I met a man, a student, and we went around together. He said his father was a banker, he seemed to have money to burn. But his father was a bank clerk and Gerald was stealing the money.'

  'And Liam‑' Roland's voice rose in hushed horror, he was wondering if Liam might have prosecuted her, and she said quickly,

  'It wasn't his case. Gerald's counsel was a friend of his and he was in the public gallery. And I wasn't in the dock, I was in the witness box. I hadn't a clue I was wearing stolen jewellery, or helping to spend stolen money, but I admit it sounded bad, and your brother has me down as someone not over-bothered, by scruples.'

  Roland took a sip of brandy and coughed on it, and Carly knew that this had thrown him. 'It isn't like Liam to be prejudiced,' he said. He was apologising for his brother, but she felt that he respected Liam's judgment and was usually influenced by it. and she smiled, 'So do please thank your aunt, but tell her I can't get away at the moment. Some other time, perhaps.'

  Roland had the grace to flush. 'I'm sorry. You don't think I believe that you'd do Aunt Aimee anything but good? If you don't come she's going to be terribly disappointed, and so am I. I'm counting on it. Surely you can manage a week or two. Better still, a few weeks.' He was over his embarrassment before the end of that speech, and when Carly still hesitated he said, 'She'll be hurt if you turn her hospitality down. I can promise you a good holiday. Do you ride?'

  'No.'

  'I'll teach you.' The white teeth flashed. 'Don't you want to sleep in Napoleon's bed?'

  'Honestly?'

  'Cross my heart. And any lessons you need there— ' he leered engagingly, and it was nice to laugh. It dispersed the darkness and brought her back to this brightly lit hotel dining room, and Roland, who believed she could be trusted, even if Liam didn't.

  'I'll be sure to let you know,' she said, spearing a strawberry from the top of her gateau, 'but I wouldn't advise you to count on it.'

  Ruth was watching the late-night movie when Carly got back. 'I liked this one,' said Ruth.

  'An improvement on the other, isn't he?' Roland had just kissed her goodnight at the front door, and Carly's lips felt warm and soft.

  'Much cosier,' said Ruth. They had only talked briefly before Carly went out on her date, but Ruth felt at ease with Roland, while Liam had scared her half to death. 'Did he say anything about going to Brittany?'

  'If you can fix up some help in the shop. I'm booking a flight some time next week, and Roland's meeting me at Rouen.'

  'It's so romantic,' sighed Ruth. 'It all sounds like something out of a novel.'

  Carly was smiling with closed lips, and Ruth thought she was dreaming of Roland, waiting for her when she stepped off that plane. But the man in Carly's mind was Liam. She was imagining how he would feel when Roland told him that Caroline Brown was on her way to the Chateau des Sables.

  She rather expected Liam to turn up again. Either that or phone, after he had warned her so bluntly to keep away from Madame Corbe. Roland rang the following afternoon to ask her if she would like him to book her flight ticket and she said firmly, 'Thank you, but I'll get it. It's no trouble. I know the girl in the travel agency.' She wasn't having Liam deciding she was sponging already. She spoke to Madame Corbe, who sounded as though Carly was doing her the favour, and made her promise to follow on the very first flight she could. 'And you'll come and dine with us here on Friday night, won't you?'

  'I suppose you couldn't come to us?' Carly suggested. There would be no risk of Liam Sherrard joining that party, but as Madame Corbe pointed out, she and Roland were leaving quite early next day, so it would be more convenient for her if Carly could dine with them. 'Yes, of course,' said Carly. 'Thank you, I'd like to come.' It was left that Roland should collect her on Friday, and in the meantime she would book her ticket just as soon as she knew for certain that Ruth could manage in her absence.

  That afternoon Ruth spoke to the mothers waiting outside school to collect their children while she was waiting for William, and found two who were willing to help in the shop. 'I can manage,' Ruth announced over tea that evening. 'You can't let a chance like this slip by.' The chance of a wonderful holiday, she meant, although she was probably wondering if maybe, just maybe, this wealthy family that Carly had stumbled on might invest a little money in a little shop.

  Carly hoped she wasn't. The thought had crossed her own mind, but not since meeting Liam. He wouldn't believe it was a business proposition, he'd think it was a con trick. 'I'll see that you don't get a penny out of Madame Corbe,' he'd said, so she'd see to it that she never asked for a penny.

  If she had taken him up on his offer to buy her off she might have suggested he bought the lease. As a lump sum that would have been high, so it would have depended on how much of a threat he thought she was, and if she could have stomached being a blackmailer. She couldn't, of course. Life would be simpler without scruples, but ever since Gerald Carly had never put herself in any man's debt, and she would have to be very desperate indeed before she would accept anything at all from Liam Sherrard.

  She got a ticket for a week the following Thursday, and began working furiously to finish some of the uncompleted garments in the sewing room. She took her machine into the shop during the day, in the van, so that no time was wasted, and worked at home in the evenings, cutting
out all dates. She couldn't help feeling a little guilty, dashing off on holiday, although she hadn't had a holiday this year.

  Barney phoned and she said she couldn't see him, explaining, 'I'm going to France for a couple of weeks. It's all a heck of a rush, but an offer came up that I can't turn down, from a very nice old lady who came into the shop. She lives in Brittany and she's invited me to her home for a fortnight.'

  'A holiday with a nice old lady?' he jeered. 'What as? Companion-nurse?'

  'I'll send you a postcard,' she said.

  'When are you going?'

  'A week today.'

  'Where from?'

  'Birmingham.'

  'Can I run you to the airport?' he offered.

  'Thank you very much,' said Carly.

  Friday evening was the only night she was going out and she wasn't looking forward to visiting Liam Sherrard's house again. She wondered if he had told Madame Corbe about Gerald or if—which would be worse—he might refer to the case over the meal. Hints, or digs, to keep Carly in a state of apprehension. If he tried that she would come right out with it, look right at him and ask, 'Does your aunt know where we saw each other before?'

  'How did Liam take the news that I'm accepting your aunt's invitation?' she asked Roland, as she sat beside him in his car, speeding towards Liam's house.

  He kept his eyes on the road and his voice casual. 'He just reminded Aunt Aimee, "So long as you remember that she isn't Antoinette".'

  That was sound advice, it was something Carly must emphasise herself, but she doubted if that was all Liam had said. 'And?' she prompted.

  'Aunt Aimee's a shrewd old bird,' said Roland slowly, as though he would rather have left this out. 'She said, "You don't like her, do you?" and Liam said, "Not my type".'

  'And that's all?'

  'Hardly a compliment,' said Roland, 'but he was quite amiable about it.'

  Oh no! thought Carly. She was positive that Liam Sherrard was not amiable, nor resigned to the situation. He had walked out on her, white with anger. He thought she was dangerous and she knew he was.

  She made herself laugh, 'So tell me, what is his type?' and Roland named a well-known model and a duke's daughter, and chuckled, 'Among others.'

  'Among others?' Carly echoed. 'Does your brother get jilted a lot?'

  'Not at all,' said Roland cheerfully. 'But he doesn't believe in marriage, so he keeps on the move.'

  'You mean women actually want to marry him?' She gurgled incredulously. 'What do they see in him?'

  'I don't know,' said Roland, 'but I've been waiting for years for some girl to ask that. Are you short-sighted, by the way?'

  'Forty-forty vision,' quipped Carly blithely. 'I suppose he's just not my type,' and they laughed together, and she wouldn't have admitted for the world that her flippancy was hiding a feeling of dread at the prospect of another encounter with Liam.

  Madame Corbe was sitting at a bureau in the drawing room when Roland and Carly walked into the room. She had been writing a letter, but she pushed it aside with a little cry of welcome, got up and came to meet them, putting her arms around Carly. 'It's lovely to see you,' she smiled.

  She was not normally a demonstrative woman. Carly hadn't seen her embrace any of her birthday guests like this. When Liam's girl-friend had tried to hug her she had held back, offering a cool cheek, but this was like a family welcome, and Carly felt that Liam would not have approved at all.

  There was no sign of Liam. As she had stepped into the hall Carly had looked for him, from door to door, up to the landing of the staircase; and in this room her glance had swept wide before she was reassured that Madame Corbe was alone.

  She couldn't ask about him. She sat beside Madame Corbe and chattered about some of the customers who had come into the shop that week, embroidering incidents to make them funnier or more interesting. But it wasn't until they went into the dining room—where only three places were laid—that she breathed freely. Liam wasn't eating with them, and that meant Carly would be able to get down her food without fighting a tightness in her throat.

  'Liam can't be with us,' said Madame Corbe, as though she had noticed Carly counting places. 'He's working late. But I do hope he'll be back before you go.'

  That's me for an early night, thought Carly, smiling and saying nothing, although Roland laughed. 'It's all right, Aunt Aimee, Carly knows she's not his type.'

  Madame Corbe looked blank. 'Indeed?' then seated herself and began to serve the soup.

  Released from the strain of waiting for Liam, Carly relaxed and had a very pleasant evening. The more she saw of Madame Corbe the more she liked her. It had nothing to do with money, as Liam had suggested. She had felt the same when she had imagined Madame Corbe was hard up and alone, and after dinner she sat beside the old lady on a green velvet sofa, talking, listening, so that Roland, in an armchair on the other side of the fireplace, seemed the odd man out.

  When a clock struck eleven Madame Corbe said, 'Surely Liam can't be much longer,' and Carly jumped.

  'It's never that late! I must go. You've a long day ahead of you tomorrow, a long journey. It's been a lovely evening.'

  She couldn't believe how the time had flown. She would be seeing Madame Corbe again next week she said, and she was looking forward to that very, much indeed. Madame Corbe kissed her and said, 'Take care, child,' and went with them to the door.

  As Carly settled into the passenger seat of his car Roland observed, 'You've got a gift for it.'

  'A gift for what?'

  'Getting on With people. I've never seen Aunt Aimee take to anybody before the way she's taken to you.'

  'Do you mind?' She would hate Roland to share Liam's suspicions about her because she liked Roland. But he smiled and bent his head to kiss her cheek, assuring her,

  'Of course I don't mind. She's showing very good taste.' The headlights of a car drawing up behind flashed in the rear-view mirror and he turned and announced, 'It's Liam. Do you want to say goodnight?'

  'I don't want to say anything,' she said quickly. 'Please let's go.'

  Roland's car drew away, and Carly waved to Madame Corbe who was still standing silhouetted in the doorway. Then she looked back, watching the headlights until she was quite sure Liam Sherrard was not following them. She had made her getaway in the nick of time, because two minutes with him could have spoiled the whole evening for her.

  'I'll be waiting for you on Thursday,' said Roland, when he delivered her home.

  'I'll be looking for you,' she said, and the lamplight put shadows in his face, hollowing his cheekbones, and giving him a faint resemblance to his brother.

  'You're shivering,' he said. He was kissing her goodnight, under the lamp-post just outside Ruth's house, and she said, 'It's turned cold,' but she was shivering because she had imagined Liam's face just above hers, and Liam's hard arms holding her....

  She couldn't believe that Liam would let her leave on that holiday without another word. Every time the phone rang in the days that followed her muscles tensed. He was so vividly in her mind that she felt haunted. She 'saw' him walking on the other side of the road, only it wasn't him, it was just another tall man. She suspected she was dreaming about him, because although she didn't remember her dreams she kept waking in the morning feeling anxious, and that was something that hadn't happened to her for a long time.

  On Wednesday evening she was washing her hair when Ruth put her head round the bathroom door and said, 'Caller for you,' and Carly croaked, 'Is it Liam?'

  'No,' said Ruth. 'It's Lucy from next door. She wants you to bring her some duty-free scent. Were you expecting Liam?'

  'Not really,' said Carly, but she couldn't rid herself of the fear that even now he would find some way to stop her leaving.

  'You can do with this holiday,' said Ruth, nodding wisely. 'You're looking tired,' and Carly thought, that isn't exhaustion, that's strain. She had been on a razor's edge ever since she first saw Liam at the birthday party, but his time was running out. She would be
away early in the morning and once at the airport all she would have to do was let the plane carry her to Rouen where Roland would be waiting for her— Rouen, so that he could spend a day or so showing her something of Normandy as well.

  Barney arrived, as he'd promised, to drive her to the airport. The alarm clock had failed to ring, and the last twenty-five minutes had been hectic with Carly dashing around, getting dressed, making up, and finishing last-minute packing; while Ruth brewed tea and cooked bacon and egg and urged Carly to eat.

  'You must have something before you set off,' Ruth insisted, and when Carly shrieked, 'I haven't time!' she made the bacon into a sandwich and followed Carly round with' it. So that instead of leaving the house looking composed and elegant Carly tumbled into Barney's car clutching a bacon sandwich, and collapsed in the seat, letting her head fall back. 'The alarm didn't go off,' she told him. 'Dratted thing. I must have pressed the wrong button.'

  He had loaded her case in the boot. 'We're in plenty of time,' he said reassuringly and she smiled at him.

  'Thank you for the lift.'

  She was flushed from the rush, pink-cheeked, and Barney wished he was going with her. There was something so alive and vibrant about Carly. 'Who is this old woman you're staying with?' he asked.

  'Madame Corbe. I told you she was living in Brittany. Guirec Vert it's called, the place.' She was going on to tell him about the birthday party and perhaps Roland. Not about Liam. She didn't want to talk about Liam to anybody. But Barney was frowning slightly, and if he turned jealous and refused to drive her to Birmingham she was going to have a job getting a taxi, and no hope of a bus or train. The old van probably wouldn't make it and it would be ironic if she failed to reach Rouen through her own stupid fault.

  She said, 'She has an estate out there and she's a very nice lady. I. suppose you don't fancy a bacon sandwich?'